


Negotiations with a Dark Lord

by HecatesKiss



Series: Perfection Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HecatesKiss/pseuds/HecatesKiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Harry's fifth year, everything shifts. With the Ministry against him, Dumbledore avoiding him, a professor torturing him with a blood quill, and another teaching him to block his mind by battering at it... Harry has nowhere left to turn, and nothing left to lose.</p><p>What can a letter to the Dark Lord change? Everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiations with a Dark Lord

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> ~ * ~  
> Due to infringement Issues with another site, this fic may eventually become locked to members only. Just a warning.
> 
> No part of this story may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author.~ dated 27-08-2014  
> ~ * ~
> 
> Beta'd by my lovely vernie_klein.
> 
> Part 1 of the Perfection Universe. This is where it all starts... or all falls apart, depending on how you look at it.

The pain in his left hand was a burning, throbbing agony, nearly matching the pain in his scar. He glanced down at the carved, words, grimacing slightly at the greenish tinge they were taking. He groaned. He knew it was infected.The dull throb and the heat told him that. He’d had enough infections in the past, over the summers, to know how to handle this. Harry got to his feet, grabbed the Map, his money pouch, and his cloak then slipped from the dorm.

Harry paced back and forth, three times, knowing he couldn’t go to Madam Pomfrey for this. Knowing he needed to tend it himself. Knowing, and hating the fact he would have to figure it out, himself, untried, untrained. And potentially risk poisoning himself to do so. The door resolved itself. Harry slipped through, knowing the door would vanish behind him as soon as it closed.

Looking around, Harry smiled grimly. It was an odd mixture of a potions classroom and an infirmary. He picked up _Panacea's Poultices & Potions_ and paged through the book. He found a section on infection fighting potions and then reached for _The Potion Master’s Helpmate_. He found the potion he would need to brew, and huffed out a thankful breath that it required standard ingredients only.

He took up the quill and copied out the ingredient list, and then mentally doubled his quantities, wanting to brew a double batch. He knew he could only risk brewing something once. He probably would not be able to slip from his dorm again, under Umbridge’s watch. Everything had to be prepped tonight.

Harry ground the yarrow to powder, dropped in the lavender flowers, diced the arnica, and threw in the “secondary dermis of _salix caroliniana_ ” which after so much time dealing with Potions, Snape, and ‘Mione studying, he managed to translate out into plain english as ‘inner willow bark’. He then sat back, cast a timing spell and returned to the healing book.

_Properly brewed, this particular infection fighting potion can also double as a topical salve if allowed to brew for ten minutes longer after it has reached the light caramel colouration that marks the final stage. It will thicken, yet not lose any of its healing properties. It is better to brew for salve and dilute back to a potion using aqua vitae (spirit of wine preferred) because the paste has a 3,285 day shelf life over a 1,095 day shelf life as a potion. The standard paste to spirit proportion is Healer’s 2:1 ratio._

_Because of the anti-inflammatory properties of willow bark, the pain relieving properties of the arnica, and the blood staunching properties of yarrow, this concoction in salve or liquid form has been known for centuries as Warrior’s Aid. It can safely be decanted into opaque glass, clay or metal, so long as the seal is close fitting._

Harry decided that the bulk of the salve, if brewed properly, would be split into the small, squat, cut glass jars he’d always silently associated with the night cream on his aunt’s dressing table. Harry set the book aside and looked into the size two pewter cauldron. It was the correct colour described in the Potion Master’s text.

The Room of Requirement responded to Harry’s unspoken need, and glass jars along with a few small, round nearly flat metal containers appeared next to a deep wash sink. Harry filled the sink with hot water, added the harsh soap he remembered from his aunt and uncle’s home, grit his teeth and submerged his hands.

Pain shrieked for a few seconds from his hand. He hated it, absolutely loathed it, but he washed each jar and lid, and each of the metal containers. He dried them carefully, ensuring that absolutely no water remained in or on any of them. He turned back toward the brewing table, carefully transferring each jar and container as his timing spell chimed.

Harry extinguished the flame and carefully hefted the cauldron off the indirect source of heat, knowing he had to let the paste stand and thicken. He flexed his left hand and sighed. They ached and burned, even though, after soaking in the hot soapy water, they were clean. The ache was reduced, slightly. He gently ran a finger over the puffy, angry, swollen infection and sighed.

Harry automatically set another timing spell over the cauldron and picked up the quill and dipped it into the emerald green ink that had appeared. On each parchment rectangle he printed out the words Warrior’s Aid in neat block print along with the date. A bit of whimsy had him sketch a little lightning bolt over an infinity sign between the title of the salve and the date.

On the last bit of parchment, the only thing he sketched was the date and the lighting bolt imposed over the infinity loop. Harry then decanted the paste into the jars and tins. On one of the tins he affixed the infinity and bolt marker. That one he slipped into his left pocket. He would carry the salve on him at all times from now on.

Harry scraped up a bit of the remnant that clung to the side of the cauldron and smoothed it over his hand. He hissed slightly but sagged as the salve coated over the wounds. Heat flared for a moment, a single, searing note of agony. Then the pain vanished. He looked down and blinked. The lettering was still there.But the heat, pain, swelling, and infection was gone.

Harry picked up the cooled cauldron, cast a shrinking spell over the other jars and tins and swept them into his right pocket. He then washed the cauldron, dried it and set the workspace to rights, the same as he would if he were in Snape’s class.

Harry surveyed the room, carefully putting back the books on the shelf. He then wrapped his hand in gauze and spelled the wrap to be invisible. He sighed and called for his little elf friend.

“What can Dobby be doing for Mr. Harry Potter, sir?”

“Hello Dobby. If I give you my money pouch, could you replace what I used from the school stores?” He asked, pulling out his money pouch.

“Of course Harry Potter, sir.” The pouch clinked as Harry handed it across.

“And the jars and tins too. Sixteen size three jars and five size one tins.” Harry instructed. The little elf nodded.

“And does Harry Potter sir want the parchment back?” Dobby asked as he took the sheet from Harry’s hands.

“Yes please.”

The little elf nodded and popped himself away. Harry swirled the cloak around his shoulders, checked the Map, and slipped from the room.

Once back in the dorm, Harry tucked the salve, still shrunken, into a corner of his trunk. He’d need to make certain Fred and George had some, since they too had been landing in detentions with Umbridge pretty frequently. Harry quickly set the map and cloak back in their places, stripped out of his school uniform, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and fell into bed.

 

* * *

The morning came all too soon for Harry. He grumbled unhappily as Ron dragged him from bed and shoved him toward the showers. Harry unwrapped the gauze from around his hand and looked at the healing. It looked better, soothed, but not healed. He showered, scrubbed his hair clean and then dressed. The tin went into his left robe pocket.

Harry grimaced as he sank down on the bench. The bandage was back in place, spelled invisible. He ate what was closest to him. He glanced around the Great Hall, smiling slightly as he realized Neville was practicing expelliarmus with a carrot stick. He glanced over and shook his head as he realized that Luna was staring up at the ceiling, apparently watching birds soar across the enchanted sky.

He picked out other members of Dumbledore’s Army as he let his eyes skim across the Great Hall, some practicing defensive spell motions with cutlery or carrot sticks. He wondered, for a moment, why carrots were being served with breakfast, but then noticed Snape billowing from the Hall with a scowl on his face. Harry finished his meal, swallowed his juice and rose. He needed to catch Snape for a moment.

Harry ducked out of the Great Hall, bag draped over one shoulder. He grit his teeth as Umbridge put her mouth on his name and halted him, just as Snape’s cloak vanished down the steps toward the dungeons.

“Yes, Professor?” Harry asked, turning to face the woman. He squared his shoulders.

“A reminder, Mr. Potter. You will have detention at seven tonight with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry returned, his left hand balling into a fist as he remembered the pain from the quill.

“Eventually even the most stubborn child _learns_.” Umbridge said sweetly, an evil little smile glittering in her eyes. Harry nodded shortly. He glanced past her to see Professor Dumbledore walking and he suppressed a sigh.

“Come, Potter. You do have my class shortly.” Snape snarled from behind Harry. Harry flinched slightly but nodded. He glanced over his shoulder before he took a step back. He didn’t argue or fight when Snape’s hand curled around his arm and yanked him down the steps.

Harry went stumbling into the classroom, as Snape flung him bodily into the classroom. Harry spun around, wand sliding automatically into his hand. The portal thudded shut behind Snape. He blinked when Snape spread his arms and lifted empty hands as he tipped his head back.

“Forgive me for the harsh handling, Mr. Potter. It was visually needed.” Snape said, waving the young man to a seat. Harry ignored the offer and tensed further as Snape deliberately and slowly drew his wand. He felt his jaw drop when Snape set it on his desk and two two careful steps back.

“Close your mouth, Mr. Potter. And listen well. The Headmaster has noticed that your scar is hurting. He fears the worst. Answer me honestly, are you seeing things oddly in dreams? Height different from your own? Meetings that make no sense?”

“Death Eater meetings, you mean. His meetings. Yes. And it is not pretty.” Harry shuddered, mildly nauseated. Harry watched Snape nod slightly. Harry lowered his wand, but did not sheath it.

“As far as can be told... at the moment… the Dark Lord  is not aware. The Headmaster wishes for you to learn Occlumency.”

“What is that, sir?” Harry asked, figuring if he had to deal with being polite to Umbridge, who was denying the return of Lord Voldemort, then he could be polite to the man that he had seen writhing in agony on the floor, under Voldemort’s wand.

“The ability to hide your thoughts from another.” Snape returned and Harry nodded slightly, absorbing the word and the information.

“And why you, sir?”

“I am a master in the art, and its counterpart, legilimency. Which is the reading of another person’s mind.”

Harry’s breathing hitched. Fear flooded his stomach and roared up his throat. He went ashen and stumbled away from the desk, maintaining his death grip on his wand as he abruptly bent forward and sicked up his breakfast.

The mess vanished and Harry’s head jerked back up. Snape returned the wand to the desk and stepped back again. “Care to explain that, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook his head. “Not… really.”

“Too bad. Explain. _Now_.” Snape said as he folded his arms and glared.

“Between detention with Umbridge and Him I’m not getting much sleep.” Harry curtly responded.

“Lack of sleep doesn’t explain--”

“All right, sheesh. You poking around in my brain just sounds like loads of fun.” Harry muttered.

“And that makes you sick?”

“Put yourself in my shoes for a moment, would you? Look, you are fifteen, madman out to kill you, Headmaster ignoring you, Ministry out to do you in… Dementors third year, Dementors this year… trial thing…. and now your Potions Prof, who hates you, wants to dig into your head… sick yet?”

“Quite the picture, Mr. Potter.”

“My life Professor. Welcome to it… any day.”

“Since you seem to be confiding, let me confide in you, Mr. Potter. I walk a tightrope every day now that the Dark Lord is back. Albus has made me take up duties I put down when you banished him the first time. The Headmaster confides in no one. Mr. Potter. No one.”

“Yet you still want to dig around in my thoughts and memories?”

“It is the last thing I want, Mr. Potter. However, neither of us has been given the luxury of choice.” Snape growled. Harry blinked, then nodded, sighing slightly. He was familiar with those words. The Triwizard Tournament was a testament to that.

“You have been ordered, so you obey. Very well, sir. What cover is the Headmaster providing for this?”

“None.” Snape returned, lips thinning further.

“But...” Harry trailed off and held up a hand as he thought for a moment. He was gratified that Snape paused and waited.

“All right. How much work is this going to be?”

“Quite extensive.” Snape returned.

“Lovely. That doesn’t help. With Umbridge breathing down my neck for telling the truth, the Headmaster avoiding me… no help from that quarter, and Mione is too annoyed… Ron too clueless. Shite.”

“Language, Mr. Potter.” Snape reproved, voice mild. Harry slowly lowered his wand and scowled.

“Considering everything I’ve seen so far? Language is the _least_ of my problems.” Harry snarled, left hand balling into a fist. 

“That still does not grant you leave to curse in my presence. Just because your _perfect life_ has hit a _snag_ does not permit you that leeway.”

“Oh bloody hell. Like I said… I’ve got Umbridge breathing down my _fucking neck_. We both know that Voldemort is _back_. I saw him crawl out of a cauldron. The Ministry is cowering in fear and trying to paint me as crazy. I do not _lie_ , Professor. You’ve stood before him, I know.” Harry continued, breathing deeply, to keep from lashing out as he tapped his free hand against his scar.

“Mr. Potter…”

“I’ll take the lessons, but we’re going to have to come up with an excuse, sir. How would you suggest we do that?”

“Detention.” Snape responded immediately. Harry huffed.

“How many nights a week?”

“At least three.”

Harry grimaced. He knew it was needed. If Snape was willing to offer, it was vital. “Fine. Now how?”

“I’m certain you can botch a potion in a spectacular fashion.” Snape drawled, arching an eyebrow.

“What are we brewing this week?” Harry asked.

“Alexander’s Bane.”

“Hellebore base?”

“You have done your reading? Very well. Screw that up in a way that does not kill anyone… and we will have the reason for detention, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, Professor. You may have to argue with Umbridge, sir. Over who gets priority. She’s rather… rabid about my detentions.” Harry flexed his hand. The dark clad man inclined his head slightly and then gestured towards the door. Harry nodded, pocketed his wand, and stepped forward. He cursed and automatically lashed out when a hand wrapped into his robes. His professor blocked the fist almost negligently.

“Tell no one Potter. More than your worthless hide depends on secrecy.” Snape snarled before his fingers relaxed on the black material and Harry was able to slip from the room.


End file.
